


right this second

by nymphe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Finger Sucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphe/pseuds/nymphe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>completely unrepentant pwp, based on this nsfw gif, which just quickly devolved into rimming, fingering, multiple orgasms, and comeplay. title from deadmau5.</p><p>(http://31.media.tumblr.com/8e9b58079cd4434f857846297473746a/tumblr_mp6137B2Je1s70wu3o1_400.gif)</p>
            </blockquote>





	right this second

**Author's Note:**

> (the ending is pretty rushed, but its 5am, what do you want from me, bye) underage and light d/s tag explanations in end notes.

"So good, Der, so - " Stiles thinks he might be whimpering a little bit, tiny little whining whimpers that interrupt the moans constantly pouring out of him. They're embarrassing noises, but helpless, and he figures he can be forgiven the noises he makes when he's like this; he's straddling Derek's naked hips, and Derek's working a hand in the back of his pants, sucking on his nipples where his naked torso is hovering over Derek's face. Stiles loves this position, loves straddling Derek, his hips, his ridiculous thighs - he'd sit in Derek's lap all fucking day if he could - has, and hopefully will in the future.

Every time he grinds his hips back, the denim of his jeans rubs against Derek's dick, and it must feel like the same sort of torturous friction for Derek as it is for Stiles when he grinds forward, his cock trapped against his zipper, because Derek's every intake of breath when he grinds against him is a sharp hiss. He doesn't know why he still even has his jeans on, he should be naked, except he loves the feel of his jeans, tight, trapping his thighs. That sort of _almost_ feeling he gets, unable to spread his thighs as far as he wants, unable to feel Derek's cock rubbing against his naked skin the way it should be doing. He'd be a lying liar if he said he didn't love teasing, being teased. It makes him feel sexy, wanted. Slutty, cockhungry, overwhelmed. Desperate.

It's good, great, the best foreplay he's ever had, Derek's hand alternating between grabbing his ass and lightly rubbing over his asshole, dry, because he hadn't thought to bring the lube downstairs, hadn't planned on getting fucked downstairs. On the living room floor in front of the couch - the couch is right there, why are they risking rugburn when they could be on the couch, jesus - in the middle of the day. They usually only have time to fuck properly at night, at Stiles' house, when his dad's working the night shift, but they've been at it for the better part of two days; his dad's at a gun safety conference in Arizona for the weekend, and Stiles is making the most of all the free time. At Derek's apartment, in his bed, because his bed is fucking huge, and soft, and also has sentimental value because he lost his virginity in it.

(Also, Derek tends to leave right after they fuck at his house, too scared to spend the night in case the Sheriff comes home early and they'll be forced to talk about feelings and _things_ , so Stiles has to fall asleep alone and snuggleless; but when they're at the apartment, when they have time and don't have to worry about the Sheriff finding out about them, they can stay in Derek's bed and kiss and cuddle and sleep all day. This morning he made breakfast while Derek kissed the back of his neck. He's going to miss the domesticity when his dad gets back from Arizona.)

"Gotta," he's saying, stuttering, breathy, "you gotta fuck me, babe, Der, you gotta - I wanna come, want you inside me so I can come." He needs Derek to fuck him, hard, because the harder Derek fucks him, the less coherent he gets, and incoherency means inability to vocalize all the filthydirty things he wants Derek to do to him. He likes it better when Derek is the one talking dirty.

He needs Derek to go get the lube from upstairs so he can get fucked, but he's finding it a struggle to remove himself from his position above Derek's abs, and, honestly, like anyone could blame him for finding it hard to tear himself away from the hottest guy in town. Or they could just -

"Wait, fuck the lube, eat me out." Why wasn't that his first idea? He loves it when Derek eats him out. Derek loves eating him out. Neither of them love interrupting a foreplay sesh to go get lube.

Derek's growling, but his lips are still wrapped around one of his nipples, and holy shit, he did not know his nipples were that sensitive. How did he miss that erogenous zone? He's an expert on erogenous zones, especially his own. He's a very knowledgeable, creative masturbator. If his bedroom walls could talk, they'd tell you.

Derek pulls some simultaneous intensive manhandling/coffee-table rearranging shit that ends with Stiles bent over the couch, Derek's fingers wrapped around his hips, and Derek's face millimeters from his ass. Stiles' second favourite position is definitely being bent over common household furniture. The dining room table is his favourite, but he'll just as easily settle for the couch. It's softer against his stomach, and he can stifle his screams in the cushions. He tends to cry out a lot when Derek eats him out, so it's probably for the better.

Derek reaches one hand around to his stomach, fingertips light on his treasure trail and tucking into the waistband of his jeans, tugging. Then there's a claw popping the button right off his jeans and ripping the teeth of his zipper straight down the middle, and what the fuck, these were his nicest jeans. They made his ass look _great_. Lydia bought them for him when he told her Derek asked him out. (She bought him a scarf, too, which he'd kept in his closet with no intention of wearing, ever, until Derek found it and decided it would make a nice blindfold. It did make a great blindfold, silky and opaque, and Stiles sort of wishes they hadn't decided to use it as a gag, too, because he'd gnawed on it until it was worn, and they'd had to throw it out and invest in a real blindfold and a ball gag. It was worth it.)

The waistband left red marks on his skin, visible now Derek's pulled his jeans to around his thighs, and, oh, there it is, there's the slight hitch of breath Derek makes when he realizes Stiles isn't wearing any underwear. It's a beautiful hitch of breath, soft and so, so deceptive in that Stiles knows every time he catches Derek off guard during sex, Derek goes animalistic, and he gets fucked twice as hard. Three times as hard when he surprises Derek by wearing a plug and no underwear, but he regretfully didn't have the time to himself to put a plug in today. Not that it would have mattered, because Derek's barely taken his dick out of him all day. Between Derek waking him up with his dick this morning, Derek fucking him in the shower two hours ago, and Derek fingering him while he was on the phone with his dad ten minutes after their shower, it seemed a moot point to go digging through their toy drawer for a plug when he knew some part of Derek's actual flesh would more than likely be in him within half an hour of actually having the plug inside of him.

He wishes he'd found the time, because he wants something in his ass, and Derek's choosing now to take his sweet fucking time. He clenches the fingers of one hand around the edge of a couch cushion and throws his other arm backward, spreading his ass and pressing one finger against his rim in a dirty tease that he knows will work Derek up. It does the trick, because Derek slaps his ass and spits on his hole.

Stiles jerks and grinds forward into the couch, muffling a frustrated moan. He _loves_ when Derek spits on his hole. He's developing a kink for that specific act alone.

“Fuck, Der,” he gasps, and his dick smears wetness on the couch cushion when Derek spits on him again. “Yeah, _fuck_ , get me wet.”

Derek smacks his ass again, squeezes him as he drags his tongue from Stiles' balls to his hole and laps at his rim.

Stiles _really_ hopes he does the supernaturally-long werewolf tongue thing tonight.

His jeans are still wrapped around his thighs, so he doesn't have the leverage to spread his legs, but his ass is on display, and he feels dirty and sexy and he's sweating by the time he's wet and pliant enough for Derek to wriggle his tongue _just_ inside of him.

Derek takes his time, teasing the tip of his tongue around his hole for what feels like roughly a year, getting him, like, _obscenely_ wet before he thrusts his tongue back inside of Stiles' loosened hole, and it's so, so great, Stiles is probably going to come at least twice this round, and it's only mid-afternoon.

Derek's hands are bruising his hips and lower back, rubbing into the dimples above his ass as he eats him out with truly unparalleled enthusiasm, slurping with the excess of spit that's trailing down Stiles' balls and inner thighs and probably making a mess of Derek's chin. He must be enjoying himself. At least, he's moaning like Stiles' ass is a plate of the most indulgent, decadent desserts he's lucky enough to have in his presence.

“God,” Derek says, pulling back to bite into the flesh of his ass cheek, “could eat your tight little ass out forever. Think I can make you come like this, baby?”

Stiles presses his cheek into the cushion and chews on his lip, stifling a whimper. Derek smacks his ass again, and Stiles' mouth falls open on a broken gasp, thighs shaking and fingers digging into the couch so hard he's white-knuckled and cramping.

“I asked you a question, Stiles.”

Fuck, fuck Derek and his uncanny ability to hit all of Stiles' kinks at one time. “I- Derek -”

“Use your words, baby. Can you come from just this? Just my tongue inside you, or do you want a finger?”

He could probably come from this, and Derek fucking knows it. But Derek's _fingers_ , man. They're thick and long and meant for Stiles' ass, like, he's sure they were specifically designed for the sole purpose of filling Stiles up _perfectly_. He _always_ wants Derek's fingers inside of him.

“Please, Derek, please.” His voice is wrecked, his face is so warm, and he's probably going to start sobbing if Derek doesn't make him come in the next ten to fifteen seconds.

“Be a good boy, and I'll let you sit on my face later.” _Fuck_. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, please, fuck, need your fingers in me, Der.”

Derek grips his ass cheek in one of his massive, callused hands, and presses the pad of the thumb on his other hand against his asshole, just light enough to tease his oversensitive nerves and not hard enough to actually enter him. He feels so good it's driving him _crazy_.

Derek presses an open-mouthed kiss to the dip of his spine, takes his thumb away from his hole – to a disgruntled whine and some ineffectual squirming from Stiles – to run his hands down his thighs. “Hold your ass open for me, sweetheart.”

It's a little scary how quick Stiles is to obey Derek's orders, mindlessly reaching back with an arm to replace Derek's hand squeezing his ass and hold himself open. But he wants to be good for Derek – and not just for the promise of getting to sit on his face later, either. He wants Derek to be proud of him, because Derek is so good to him and Stiles wants to make Derek feel as happy and warm as he makes Stiles feel.

“Good boy,” Derek says, breath hot and damp against his ass. He turns his face and kisses Stiles' fingers, trails a warm thumb across the back of his hand, his wrist, as he goes back to mouthing at Stiles' ass like he's a feast laid out just for him, his hands wrapped around Stiles' thighs, keeping him trapped and helpless and at Derek's mercy.

Stiles' breathing gets shaky, his heartbeat erratic as Derek continues to eat him out, pushing his tongue into him, getting him sloppy inside and out with spit. It's another few minutes of Stiles muffling moans into the couch, clenching and unclenching his whole body in what feels like a constant state of almost-orgasm, before Derek brings a hand up to Stiles' mouth, rubs two fingers against Stiles' plush, bitten lower lip until Stiles sucks his fingers in, closes his eyes and moans around them as he soaks them in his spit.

Derek presses his fingers against his tongue, lets Stiles lave and suckle and noise happily around his fingers, like a kitten with cream, while he sucks and licks at the thin skin of Stiles' rim, nips at his inner thighs and kisses his lower back. When he deems his fingers wet enough and makes to pull them out, Stiles unclenches his free hand from the sofa and grabs his wrist desperately in an attempt to keep his mouth full with Derek's fingers, and Derek groans at the sight: Stiles' eyes are shut tight, and he's sucking on Derek's fingers with a look of pure bliss on his face, still obediently holding his ass open for Derek.

“God, you're perfect for me, baby,” he says, forehead pressed against Stiles' ass, rubbing his fingers against Stiles' soft, wet tongue. Stiles whines so sweetly when Derek pulls his fingers from his mouth, trailing spit down Stiles' chin, his wrist, the couch. “I'll give you what you need, beautiful, shh. Gonna get you wet like a bitch, make you come so hard you cry.”

It's that that breaks him, makes him whine and writhe and hump uselessly against the sofa, half-crazed with the need to come. It shouldn't turn him on so much, when Derek talks about getting him wet like a bitch, and he's not sure if it's just a kink he picked up from hanging around werewolves for so long or if it's something he's had buried in the sluttiest, most perverted Freudian parts of his brain.

Derek pets his flank while he shakes, drags his spit-soaked fingers down Stiles' throat, the dip of his collarbone, to play with his nipples. They're pink and perky and _sensitive_ , and he wants Derek to keep playing with his nipples, yeah, but he wants his fingers _in him_ even more. He's probably going to fly apart and/or spontaneously combust the second Derek gets a fingertip pressed against his prostate, because Derek's intense and relentless when he fingerfucks him, and Stiles has never loved a single sex act so much, probably.

“Please,” he whispers, voice croaky, throat dry, “Der, need you.”

Derek – growls, low-pitched, which means he's probably just shifted into his Beta form. Stiles' can't really tell, doesn't have the energy to turn his head and look, but Derek's fingers are still human-shaped and lacking claws. Which, thank God, because he might admit to having some weird werewolf kink, but he's not sure he's ready to have Derek fingering him with _claws_.

Derek gives one last vicious twist to his nipple before he drags his fingers down to Stiles' spread-open ass. His fingers are no longer soaking wet, but they're still wet enough that with the frankly ridiculous amount of spit already slicking him up, his index finger slides in easily. One of Derek's fingers is nothing compared to his monster cock – Derek's hung like a fucking _horse_ – but he's still tight, and the feeling of being stretched and filled with even just one of Derek's perfectly thick fingers makes him need to bite into the cushion in front of him and cry out, clench down on Derek's finger.

“I'll take care of you, baby,” Derek says, curling his finger perfectly, first fucking time, how does he _do it_ , rubbing against that spot that makes Stiles see stars and want to keep Derek forever.

“You can come whenever you need to, but don't touch yourself,” and then Derek licks around his finger, wraps his arm around his hip to press his hand into his stomach right above his cock, and Stiles is gone, gone, coming like a blackout, clenching like a vice around Derek's finger and shaking like a newborn deer, mouth gaping in a silent scream where it's pressed against the cushion. It hits him so hard the hand he still has spreading his ass open for Derek flails back to grip whatever of Derek he can reach – tugs at his hair, digs his nails into his shoulder.

It might be the most intense orgasm Derek's ever given him – and Derek keeps fucking going, rubbing against his prostate through his aftershocks until he's oversensitive and drooling and, yeah, maybe crying a little bit. He only stops rubbing his prostate when Stiles goes limp like a ragdoll, whimpering a little bit, but he keeps his finger in him and licks around his rim, soft, like he's trying to calm Stiles down from his high.

Stiles rolls his hips backward a little, still trying to work himself through the last of it, feeling Derek rub his come into his stomach, scoop it up in his palm.

“Good boy,” Derek says, leans up to kiss his spine, his back, his shoulderblade, the back of his neck. “You okay for one more, baby?”

Stiles _melts -_ his whole body just sort of goes soft and boneless, giving himself up to Derek's control. He nods, heartbeat stuttering back to a normal pace.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” Derek's still using _that voice_ , that soft-but-dominant tone that sends shivers wracking Stiles' entire body, still gives him wet dreams some nights, and definitely fuels at least half of his jerk-off fantasies.

“Yeah, m'okay.”

“Knew you would be, my perfect boy.” Derek presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the back of his neck, and then the next thing Stiles feels is Derek smearing his come across his asshole, pushing it into him along with a second finger. Derek's going to be the death of him, probably.

Derek seems less focused on attacking his prostate, now, busy fucking his own come into him, fingerfucking him relentlessly. The stretch is _more_ , and it still isn't filling him enough to feel anything like Derek's dick, but Derek makes up for that with the sheer force with which he fingerfucks him.

Derek's strength is never more apparent than when he's single-mindedly fingering Stiles, with the sole intent of getting him off. He fucks him fast, so powerfully he's practically shoving Stiles forward into the couch, holding him down with one hand on his lower back and screwing into him so hard Stiles' is helpless to do anything but lay there and take it.

Vulnerability should also probably not be a thing that gets him off so hard.

His dick is plumping up again, and every thrust in of Derek's fingers sends him grinding forward, creating friction right on the edge of pleasure-pain for his oversensitive cock.

He's probably going to come again, like, soon, and this time he's probably going to blackout.

The second orgasm is slow, sneaks up on him, building like a fire in the pit of his stomach and sending sparks quick and violent throughout his entire body. It makes him feel warm and soft, leaves him squirming and breathless and seeing white behind his eyelids.

Derek keeps fingering him, drawing out his orgasm every time he screws his fingers in and sends another shock of electricity lighting up from the inside out, head to toe. He doesn't stop when Stiles goes limp, keeps fingering him until he works him through a third, dry orgasm, dick flaccid and twitching between his stomach and the couch. He gentles him through the last orgasm, pulls his fingers out of Stiles' sloppy, loose hole and pets up and down his entire body, placing soft, closed-mouthed kisses on all of his favourite spots on Stiles' body.

Stiles is exhausted, just about ready to crawl into Derek's lap, curl up, and let him carry them to their bedroom, but Derek hasn't gotten off yet and that's just unacceptable.

“Want you to come on me, Der, please,” Stiles says, voice soft, and he turns to kiss Derek, wraps a hand around the hand Derek's using to jerk himself off and guides their hands and Derek's dick to his stomach, Derek's favourite place – after his ass – to come.

Derek jerks his cock rough and fast, while Stiles kisses his neck and rolls his balls in his hand. It takes Derek less than a minute after Stiles nips at his neck to come, shooting all over Stiles' stomach, up his chest. He rubs it into Stiles stomach and down into his happy trail, breath stuttering into Stiles' throat.

Stiles sighs, blissed out, feeling marked and owned and thoroughly possessed. “Love you,” he says, kisses Derek sweetly.

“You just want me to carry you to bed, don't you.”

Stiles laughs, loud and clear, the laugh that always gets a fond smile out of Derek in return. “Well, yeah, obviously. You fucked me too good, my bones hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but stands and swoops Stiles up bridal-style into his arms anyway, carrying him to their bed while Stiles laughs into Derek's neck.

 

**Author's Note:**

> underage b/c stiles' age isn't explicitly mentioned, but i wrote this with his canon underage-ness in mind, so if it's not ur jam, just imagine him legal. light dom/sub tag because there's no discussion, but derek acts dominantly with some slightly humiliating dirty talk, and stiles behaves submissively and his internal dialogue suggests he's, like, super into it.


End file.
